


Eye on the Prize

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, How Remli got her Varric nickname, aka friends making bets on their lovelives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6909895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and the Inquisitor shoot the breeze, and Remli ends up getting her nickname. Short pre-Solavellen romance fic set in Haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye on the Prize

Considering she was being touted as the ‘Herald of Andraste,’ there was probably something sacrilegious about her skipping out on the daily services to the Maker. Given that she was neither Andrastian nor religious in any capacity, however, she figured that if she did have to answer for her failings one day, it hardly mattered if she stole away into the tavern during said daily services. It was a place to pass the time to stay sheltered out of the cold, and it was far from the disapproving gaze of Mother Giselle.

And, if she was being completely honest, she found the drunkards and other social pariahs who kept vigil in the deserted tavern more tolerable companions than the people who kept trying to get her to lead the masses in some holy ceremony. At least they had the decency to leave her alone.

More often than not, however, she did have a companion with her-- that is, someone who was willing to speak to her like a person, and not just another slack-jawed sycophant. So far as she could tell, Varric did believe in the Maker-- and by some extension, Andraste-- but she never saw him at the services.

“What are they going to tell me that I don’t already know?” he said when she asked him about it. “The world’s gone to pieces and you just have to deal with it and keep going. I don’t need to sing a song to know that a hole in the sky is a sign of more weird shit yet to come.”

Their conversation today had been fairly typical, simply talking about the misadventures of their motley crew as they tried to answer each and every call for help in the field. They were in a heated debate about the pros and cons of camping in the field versus trying to bum floor space in a farmhouse or inn. Remli had set up two bottles to represent trees with a napkin twisted between them into a makeshift hammock, and was citing the benefits of sleeping in the fresh air when the a chill burst of air tipped her diorama over. They looked up as one to see Solas walked towards them, thick manuscript in hand.

“I hope I am not disturbing anything,” he said, giving them an apologetic smile as Remli used the napkin to sop up the spilled ale. Varric waved it aside, raising a glass.

“Just hiding from the wrathful eye of the holy masses and keeping warm,” quipped the dwarf, taking a sip. He raised an eyebrow as he took in the elf’s reddened cheeks and windswept appearance. “Looks like you could stand some time thawing out yourself.”

“I wanted to drop these off before the hour grew too late,” Solas explained, handing the stack of papers to Remli. “You asked for more locations we might investigate while afield. I have compiled a list of places with significant history, which may prove useful in your investigations.”

She beamed at him as she took the papers, cheeks flushed. “I appreciate you taking the time to drop them off,” she said, stumbling over the words a little. He gave her an indulgent smile, which only made her blush harder. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble, I could have stopped by to pick them up.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied smoothly, straightening a little and clasping his hands behind his back. “I had a few other errands to attend, and thought I might find you here.”

“Guilty as charged,” Varric laughed, slapping Remli on the shoulder as she sighed.

“I think it’s less disrespectful to the faithful to leave them quietly to their prayers than it is to stand with them and pay lip service,” she said, frowning a little. “I hope they understand that my lack of faith in their god does not mean that I slight them for their own beliefs.”

“Not like you can do much to change their minds one way or another, Herald,” sympathized Varric, tossing back his glass. “Besides, better to stay away and drink your beer in peace than attend the ceremony and fall asleep half-way through.”

“That was one time!” complained Remli, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “One time, during a four-hour ceremony celebrating stars-knows what, the day after we spent four hours taking down that dragon and her nestlings! Forgive me if listening to religious droning and chants put me to sleep!” She glared into her glass, grumbling under her breath. “Despite popular opinion, I’m only mortal.”

“Indeed,” agreed Solas, stepping back and inclining his head in a bow. “I will leave you to your ruminations. If I may be of further assistance, please let me know.”

They watched him turn to leave, although he paused near the door to speak to one of the elves Flissa had hired to help after the massive influx of pilgrims. Varric coughed, his grin showing far more teeth than usual.

“Got your eye on the prize there, Herald?” 

She jumped, clinking her mug on the table. “What?” Varric laughed, picking up the bottle and topping off her glass.

“You won’t get anywhere putting your sights on Chuckles. Curly on the other hand…” he trailed off, and she coughed, glaring angrily into her cup.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she countered, then took a deep swig of her drink. It might have been more convincing if her face hadn’t flushed deeper than before, although one could argue (poorly) that it was from the beer.

Varric laughed. “I’m just saying, we’ve known Chuckles over a month now and he doesn’t really seem the type who’d be interested in starting anything. I know you’re an expert hunter and everything, but there’s no hitting that mark, even for a keen-eyed Dalish tracker.”

“I am an expert with the bow,” Remli sniffed, patting her cheeks to bring the flush back down. She gave him a sidelong look. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m far too busy to consider entanglements. I admire him, yes. I find his stories interesting, and I enjoy his company-- as a friend, that’s all. I have no thoughts of that sort whatsoever.”

“Hmmm… I know a good story when I see one,” Varric cackled. “A crown says you go for it anyway. Hell, two crowns say that you make the first move when he’s not expecting it.”

“That hardly seems like a fair bet,” she complained, then bit her lip, watching the man in question. He seemed to be having a fairly in-depth conversation with the barkeep-- no doubt they were speaking of strange shem habits, goodness knew she’d witnessed enough during her short time at Haven. A thought occurred to her and she smiled, straightening in her seat. “If there was anything-- and I’m not saying that there is-- but if there _was_ \-- three crowns say that he’s more receptive to flirting than you say he is.”

“Only one way to tell, isn’t there?” Varric leaned back in his seat and called out. “Chuckles! Why don’t you grab a drink and join me and Longshot? We heathens have to stick together, afterall.”

“Longshot?” Remli asked, ignoring the little flutter that went through her when Solas looked up briefly to nod in agreement and brought a cider mug over. Varric sat back in his seat, grinning.

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Varric chuckled. “Gonna take a miracle to land that shot, but Hell, you’ve pulled off some pretty impressive shit. I’d be happy to give you this one.”


End file.
